


Dirty Laundry

by WhoopsOK



Series: Damp [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Mild Language, Multi, Sexist Language, Watersports, mysophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6824254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But right now, he’s wishing he was Big and things were as simple as sticking some soap in Dean’s mouth and sitting him in a corner until he learns to hold his tongue. But he is not Big right now, any more than Dean is little. And Dean is smack in the middle of throwing the longest fit in the entire recorded history of the known universe."</p>
<p>(Dean is grumpy and pays for it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> I am Enjoying myself and I hope you are, too.

Sam is always very careful to keep the border between his normal, everyday self and his Big Sammy self pretty solid.

Because, sure, there are aspects of every part of a person that bleed through. Sam is always looking after Dean and Cas, even when they’re not littles and he always likes to be the one in control of the situation. He likes being the ballast between a guy who doesn’t always know what the right thing to say is and a guy who doesn’t always care. He’s the calm, rational voice of reason – always.

Or at least he tries to be. For the most part. Sometimes.

But right now, he’s wishing he was Big and things were as simple as sticking some soap in Dean’s mouth and sitting him in a corner until he learns to hold his tongue. But he is not Big right now, any more than Dean is little. And Dean is smack in the middle of throwing the longest bitch fit in the entire recorded history of the known universe.

“And I _just_ got her detailed,” Dean says, slamming Baby’s trunk shut with more force than strictly necessary. He grits his teeth when his hand pulls away with a sticky sound, leaving a gluey handprint behind on the otherwise spotless metal.

Sam throws his hands up, the motion uncomfortably straining his shoulders. They had spent the last hour digging graves and salting-and-burning corpses, all of which oozed upon being moved. It was not exactly a pleasant hour.

It was made even more unpleasant by the fact that they had _also_ spent the last hour alternating between stony silence and different versions of this very same conversation. Sam is getting just a _wee_ bit sick of it.

“What did you want me to do!?” he demands angrily. “I told you to get out of the way!”

“Yeah, well, you could’ve waited until, _oh_ , I don’t know,” Dean makes a mockingly considering face, stopping just short of putting his hand on his chin and getting it stuck there. He gestures angrily at himself, at the ectoplasm covering his clothes and making his fingers stick together. “ _I was actually out of the way!!_ ” He yanks open the back door.

“I shot it so that you wouldn’t get knocked out of _existence_ ,” Sam says carefully, like Dean is very slow but also _pissing him off_. His jaw tenses when Dean throws a tarp at him, “Are you serious right now?”

Dean points at him, pausing where he’d started to scrub his fingers clean with whisky. “You’re not putting your dirty ass on my seats,” he says. “Sit on it or walk!”

Rolling his eyes in a huff, Sam turns to get in the car.

“I mean it, Sam!”

“I’m putting it down!” he shouts and does. He is petty enough to not scrape the mud off his boots before he sits down, however. Dean is too in a tizzy to notice at first, anyway.

“And why would you _shoot_ something that was directly in front of me!?” Dean exclaimed as he started the car, “You could’ve hit _me_!”

“My aim is better than that, and you know it,” Sam says and goes to turn on the radio. He jerks when Dean smacks his hand away. “Dude! Why are you acting like we don’t have a washer?”

“Oh, you have a point there!” Dean scoffs, practically two-wheeling it onto the highway. “At least I’ll be able to change into something clean when I get back to the bunker! Oh, wait. No, I _won’t_ ,” he shouts, mockingly, “Because Sam hasn’t felt like washing clothes _in a month!_ ”

Sam stared at him in angry disbelief. “It was your turn to do laundry!”

“I made _dinner_ last night!”

“You _ordered_ dinner last night!”

“Yeah, so _you_ would have the time to do laundry!”

“That is not—” Sam can feel the beginnings of a headache at the base of his skull and he shuts his eyes. “Fuck it, Dean, just shut up,” he grits, rubbing his temples.

Dean cranks up the music, blaring out oldies as they scream down the highway. Sam does his best to ignore how they’re both still clearly fuming. He’s not hopeful enough to imagine Dean has let this go yet. And of course, he’s right. Dean has to put on a show for Castiel first.

“Oh, I guess I’ll have to do laundry before I shower!” He exclaims as soon as he crosses through the bunker door, “How convenient, right, Cas?”

“Dean, _lay off!_ ”

“What’s going on?” Castiel asks, brow knitted, from where he’s sitting looking over lore. His eyebrows raise when Dean in all his sticky glory come into view.

“Oh, nothing, just gotta do Sam’s chores so I have some clean underwear,” Dean says, stomping down the hallway and into the laundry room. “But first let me _separate_ the colors so Sam doesn’t blow a fuse about his precious white shirts.”

“Dean’s being a _little_ _bitch_ , that’s what’s going on!” Sam shouts and Dean comes back out instantly.

“Or maybe I should be a real _bitch_ and not separate anything! Let’s see how Sam likes wearing pink shirts with his FBI get up!”

Sam is already starting down the hallway, Castiel jumping up behind him. “If you ruin my shirts, you’re buying me new ones!” he warns, stopping in the doorway when he sees Dean has dumped the hampers out into a giant heap on the floor.

Dean drops his jacket right on top. “Are you buying me a new jacket?”

“If you wash it right, it’ll be fine!”

“Well, if _you_ hadn’t—” he doesn’t even get the chance to finish that sentence before he’s being wrestled to the ground. In and of itself, not super surprising.

Except for the fact that it was Castiel who’d jumped him.

There’s a momentary struggle, but Dean was caught off guard and goes crashing into the heap of laundry, Castiel pinning him down.

“Cas, what the fuck are you—?” Dean tries to grapple his way out from under Castiel, but Cas – especially recently – is more than strong enough to keep him pinned. He presses Dean flat back onto the cushion of dirty clothes, using his knees to lock Dean’s legs apart, their crotches colliding in the effort to hold him down.

Dean is just about to gear up to comment that he is not going to be distracted by sex, that _Sam_ is the one at fault here and he is not at all responsible, when his brain grinds to a halt.

Castiel is _pissing_ on him through his trousers.

Dean gets hard so quickly he gets a head rush, mouth falling open in shock.

“You’re being a baby,” Castiel says blandly, as if he isn’t peeing in the middle of the laundry room; like he can’t see how blown Dean’s eyes are or feel his erection against his hip. “That’s _my_ job.”

“You’re never this fussy,” Sam comments, sounding a little shocked.

 Just as Castiel finishes, their pants soggy between them, Dean has the thought that he wants to get ravaged in this pile of dirty clothes. The clothes that smell like them, and their fighting, and their love making, _them,_ he wants to get fucked right here. He’s so turned on it _hurts._ But no sooner does he make a lunge to kiss Castiel, is the angel standing up and away from him.

Dean gets full view of the dark spot on his crotch just before Castiel takes off his pants.

He tosses them unceremoniously on top of Dean, then does the same with his boxers though he makes sure those specifically hit Dean on the crotch. The sound Dean makes at even the implication is so broken it startles him.

“ _Cas_ —” Dean croaks, but doesn’t get any further than that. Motion catches his eye and he looks away just in time to see Sam is pulling his dick out of his jeans. “Wha—?” The piss hitting his chest startles him silent.

His gut reaction should’ve been to jump up, to start yelling or _fighting_ , but he just clenches his fists in the clothes and shuts his eyes as the sharp scent of piss fills his nostrils. He moans as his shirt gets soaked, sticking warmly to his skin and pooling slightly under his back. Sam hasn’t gone for hours, since they left to deal with the case. He’s held it long enough that the stream seems endless, Sam’s piss rolling in a hot torrent down his chest. When he tips his head back, it rolls to his throat. He wonders briefly if Sam will piss on his face.

He’s surprised and a little disappointed when he doesn’t.

“What a slut,” Sam says as he finishes, shaking off.

Dean shudders all over. “Fuck you,” he grits out, but he’s tenting his pants and panting like a bitch in heat.

“No, I don’t think so,” Sam sighs musingly.  He starts taking his clothes off and dropping them on Dean. He smirks, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s waist, making him moan when he grabs his slowly hardening dick. “But do the laundry and make dinner and we’ll see how I feel, ok?” He winks before he leads Castiel out of the room.

Dean is too tongue tied to respond, lying in a pile of dirty and now _piss wet_ clothes as he watches them go. His brain is coming up with all sorts of comebacks, but it feels like they’re coming from far away, too many and none of them making much sense. He’s thinking with his dick, now, and the urge to get off _right this fucking second_ overrides his desire to say something smart.

He licks his lip before dragging Sam’s sweat soaked shirt over his face. Sam’s scent is so strong here it makes his mouth water, the thick, salty, _Sammy_ scent of hard work resting damply over his face. He pushes it down with one hand, before giving into impulse and pulling part of the salty fabric into his mouth. The sound of his own muffled moan makes his dick throb inside his jeans.

Getting his pants open and down just far enough to free his cock was easy work, as was feeling around until his hand settled on Castiel’s damp boxers. He paused, knowing what he meant to do and still impossibly embarrassed by it.

But really, he thinks, they were all past the point of denying this.

He wraps the damp cloth around his erection and moans, arching into the touch. He starts imagining too many things at once to really latch onto anything. There is Castiel pissing on him crotch to crotch, Sam looking down at him like he was just a urinal, Sam’s piss on his throat, Castiel’s piss in his _mouth_ , what Sam and Cas were getting up to in the shower, a _shower of piss—_

Biting down on Sam’s shirt, he comes with a moan surely loud enough to be heard down the hall if anyone was there listening. The thought leaves him shuttering, holding Castiel’s boxers full of piss and cum and pressing Sam’s sweaty shirt into his face. He doesn’t want to move right away, doesn’t want to expose his blushed face to the empty room or acknowledge that he just jerked off with piss stained boxers.

So he waits until he’s completely soft and pisses right there in the laundry, telling himself it’s just to be spiteful. Imagining that it’s just so he can be a brat about this and go get in the shower feeling like he won this fight. Because there’s _no_ way Sam would leave pissy clothes on the ground, so Dean should just… So Dean… So…

So, so what if Dean does the laundry, separated by color and temperature needs, _and_ actually cooks something with vegetables for dinner? So what if after dinner he lets Sam and Castiel both, in succession, bend him over the kitchen table – “ _the perfect bitch, isn’t he?”_ – and fuck him until he cries, _so what?_ He has two kinky lovers and a high libido.

So sue him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading… if you haven’t done laundry recently, maybe you should give yourself a reason to do a load?
> 
> (also, Dean might be having a one man poopoo party in the future, would anyone be interested?)


End file.
